


With Good Reason

by eiyria



Category: Dresden Files - All Media Types, Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Gen, Mind Control, kink_meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-22
Updated: 2011-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-24 20:58:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/267814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eiyria/pseuds/eiyria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Justin mind fucked Harry in various ways. Messed with his compulsions, made him more likely to use black magic, etc etc.<br/>McCoy tried to get rid of the compulsions and heal it. He couldn't just wait because some of those were backed up by blood sacrifice, they wouldn't fade inside this century.<br/>But it's still mind magic, there's still bleed over. It still fucks Harry up in the head with what McCoy was feeling and what he thought Harry should be, rather than what he was trying to do. If he didn't do this there's a chance that Harry would be a raving lunatic by now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I noticed when I came to visit him. The boy seemed on edge. Distracted. I tried to tell myself nothing was wrong. The compulsion I'd put on him so many years ago was still holding. He probably just had a difficult case at the moment. There was no need for me to jump to conclusions prematurely.

We had dinner at a small cheap diner. It was cozy with dark red booths. The food was greasy, but not bad. The boy practically inhaled the fries. I don't know where he puts it all. He's skinny as a stick, and his appetite is worse than some of the goats on my farm.

"Hoss," I grumbled. "Slow down. You're going to choke."

He looked up at me, the confusion evident on his face. He straightened and chewed more civilly. "Sorry Sir."

I grunted, and turned my attention to my own plate. City food always had a less than enjoyable flavor than country cooking. I cut a piece of ham off and stabbed it with a fork. I chewed slowly, thinking of the right words to say. Subtlety wasn't one of my strengths, so I did the best I could. "You look tired Hoss. One of those cases keeping you up?"

He picked up a fry and started swirling it in a paper tin of ketchup. "No, March is one of my slow months. I've been working on a project lately. It's kept me up recently."

A project. That meant he wasn't sleeping. Or more accurately, that he couldn't sleep. "Must be one hell of a project. You look like a gust of wind could tip you over."

He promptly pulled the french fry out of the ketchup. It was dripping in bright red globs. I grimaced as the boy shoved it in his mouth, with the tact of a five year old eating finger foods. He licked his fingers before answering. "I'm reworking a spell I tried a few years back. You saw the Larry Fowler show, right? I used something to suppress my magic for a while."

I cut another piece from my ham. The boy was always overeager to learn about magic. That lust for knowledge was a side effect of his previous mentor. One intended for infiltration and easier susceptibility to learning black magic. It was something that had become too far engrained in his personality. I hadn't been able to fully abort his tendency completely.

The boy continued, knocking me out of thought. "Yeah, I figured it might be easier to cast the spell on an object, rather than hold the spell in place myself. I figured I could tweak it to deal with fluctuations."

'Fluctuations'. In other words, when he came dangerously close to loosing self control. Anger was one of the big ones. Fear was another. Hatred was the worst.

I played along though. "Have you considered making the spell temporary. It hardly seems practical to expect the charm to last for longer than one use."

"Of course," he replied. Harry abandoned his fries in favor of using me as a magical sounding board. "I don't need the spell to last months like those on my duster. The amount of variants I'd have to account for-" he threw his arms in the air in mock exasperation, "If I did that, it wouldn't be finished for years. I'm nowhere near that good yet."

But if his new shield bracelet was anything to go by, he was getting there. Fast. Exponentially fast. It wasn't normal for someone his age to be progressing that quickly through magical theory.

"What about a timing indicator. Have you thought of that? The bracelet I made for your hand had a similar attribute. The beads blackened and deteriorated, representing a count down."

"But wouldn't it break if flooded with surges of power?" He looked a little confused, as if trying to figure it out in his head.

"Not necessarily, if you do it right. After-" I was careful to omit the details that had transpired between us that night. They were painful memories on both his part and mine. I had no reason to revisit them. Besides, they made the boy unstable. After I'd let him go that night, I'd watched him closely until the police girl showed up. I had to be sure his uncontrolled anger wouldn't supersede some of the old compulsions I'd put in place years ago. It could possibly kill him. Or worse, release the flood gates, leaving him completely insane. A few weeks after he'd been transfered into my possession, I'd sewn his broken psyche up, with what equated to magical thread. It was very fragile. I was careful to periodically check its durability and wear over the years.

I continued. "Afterwords, I'm sure you experienced some shocks or jolts that night. Did the bracelet ever stop functioning?"

He thought about it. I carefully watched his expression. He grimaced in recollection, but the look in his eyes reassured me of his sanity. "Hey, I guess it didn't break. Not till the morning, anyways."

I nodded. "It will be a bit extra work, but if you apply a less complicated version of the spell to each bead, it wont matter if one or two fail consecutively."

He looked pretty relieved. "Uh. I can't believe I didn't think of that before. Each individual piece won't be as strong or functional, but there will be a lot of them."

I let a smile reach my face. "You're quick on the pick-up Hoss."

He talked more to himself, than to me. "I'd have to rework a few things, but I think I might have a prototype ready in a week." He seemed happy. That was good. At least he wasn't chasing after monsters. The thought of one of my past mistakes getting their claws in him, terrified me.

He opened his duster and reached in for a piece of paper.

I somehow managed not to react. Two centuries of my line of work had taught me to misinterpret that gesture as drawing a weapon. Harry didn't seem to notice. He clicked his pen and started writing on the margins. I settled in my booth and just looked at him. Despite my worries, pride welled up in me. The boy was growing up. He was shaping up to be a strong and capable wizard. He was fiercely dedicated to doing good, and I only wish Maggie had been around long enough to learn from her son's example. At the thought of her, I felt my face fall. She'd been so corrupted by the black - the smell of it, when I'd seen her in combat, reeked disgustingly of black magic. I pushed such thoughts aside, my appetite gone, and I watched the boy finish writing.

He pocketed the pen and paper, and turned back to his food. "What about you, Sir?" He asked.

As he stuffed himself with another mouthful of fries, I slapped my palm over my face. I pushed my fingers back through my hair, and ended up stretching my arm up on the top of the booth. "Uhhhr," I groaned.

A smile quirked his features. "That bad huh?"

I mirrored his smile lightly. "Politicians," I declared, "I couldn't stand them in the mid 18th century, and I can stand them even less now."

He grunted in agreement.

We made small talk for a while. A blond young lady gave us the bill, and I paid.

I drove us back to his rundown apartment. My faithful truck managed to make it. I walked him to the door, and gave him a customary goodbye.

From the perspective of any onlookers, it would appear we were simply exchanging pleasantries. I took that opportunity, when he was distracted by conversation, to take a look at his head.

He didn't see the black tendrils of the blackstaff form behind my back. He didn't see them burrow into my skin, and deeper into my veins. I felt the object's power and without him noticing, I slipped in to evaluate my work.

I let out a sigh of relief. The compulsions were weakening, but that was to be expected with age. I'd have to invite him over to the farm soon. But until then, they'd hold.

"So," he said. "Any time you're passing through, just call ahead." He paused. "We can do this again."

I smiled. "I'd like that Hoss."


	2. Chapter 2

The boy hadn't made any attempts to visit me over the years, which complicated things. I was his guardian, and most people would think I was just being overprotective, and refusing to let him grow up. Most people didn't know I'd single handedly tried to reform and raise a half insane warlock. His behavior worried me. After all, if it wasn't independence, then what could it be?

Perhaps on some level he was becoming aware of what I'd done. Some part of him recognized me as a threat and edged him to stay as far away as possible. No matter what my intentions, the boy might be fighting against my suggestion unconsciously. He was stubborn like that. An attribute he'd clearly inherited.

I was at peace with what I'd done. It was a necessary evil.

I still remembered the day he'd been given to me.

Simon had brought him to me out of the blue. He'd been tall, lanky, and I hadn't had the faintest clue as to why he'd been brought to my farm. Simon was part of the Senior Council and my friend. He'd greeted me at my doorstep, his shanty car parked over my lawn. Apparently, he'd stuck his neck out for a warlock on my behalf.

I had asked him 'why'? And he told me quickly that the name had sounded familiar. Familiar to something I'd mentioned to him in private. He believed the convicted to be my grandson.

Most parents love to brag about their kids. I couldn't. My only child was a complete monster. At a young age she'd run off and gotten herself into trouble. She'd taken up with bad people just to spite me, and eventually got in over her head. She'd been so addicted to the black, that when I saw her again, I wasn't sure she realized what she was doing. A whole city burned that night. She probably didn't even remember.

So, when she'd shown up on my doorstep, sober and with a polite young man, I was surprised. And a little bit -no- I'd been so proud. It was only natural that I'd confide this information in Simon. I HAD to tell somebody. Simon Pietrovich was one of the few who actually knew the extent of my blood tie to Maggie. He was the only one who could.

Simon had informed me that the warlock -my grandson- had been raised by Justin DuMorne. He was Simon's apprentice, which explained half of the guilt that was evident on his face. Simon hadn't just saved DuMorne's apprentice for my sake, he'd probably done it for himself also. I didn't blame him. I'd have done the same if my Maggie had done the same to his blood-kin.

But Simon couldn't keep him. I knew this. My friend basically ran an operated the White Council's main militant base at Archangel. No amount of guilt could drive him from his duties. Especially when it was my problem. The end result of my bad choices.

Simon had the warlock in his car. I remembered asking him if that was really such a wise idea. In my experience, the guilty usually ran if given ample opportunity.

Simon's eyes had just narrowed, and he'd told me, this one was different.

I shuffled after him towards his car. Simon dug a key out of his pocket and passed it to me. I stopped and looked through the window.

He was in the backseat, sprawled on his stomach, and a black bag covering his head. Against the setting sun, I could see a reflected damp spot where eyes should have been. He'd been crying, understandably. He was tall, too tall for Simon's little car. His lean legs were bunched up in as close to the fetal position as one can get on a backseat. His hands were bound behind his back. The angle looked painful. And he'd probably been in the same position for hours. Little shakes and tremors shook his skinny frame.

They weren't from crying.

The few times I'd seen Maggie, her body had done something similar. It was something I'd come to associate with those who use the black. All that adrenaline and power. When it leaves you, the after effect can be similar to withdrawal.

I'd asked Simon which law he broke. I was shocked to hear the answer. Stars and stones, he'd gone all out and killed the person who'd raised him. Maggie had never been that bad. She, like most others, had been caught up by the black's slow seduction. A little mind magic here, maybe a few transformations. The kid had gone and skipped steps one through three altogether.

I'd let out a sigh, thanked Simon -because what else could I do? I'd opened the car door and dragged him out.

His legs hadn't worked, and he'd just dropped to the ground. He didn't even try to get up.

He started shivering -this time from fear, I presumed. I realized, I didn't know what to call him. I turned to Simon and got his name. Simon slapped me warmly on the back, got into his car, and backed out of my lawn, leaving ruts on my grass. I'd talk to him about that later.

I squatted down beside the warlo- boy-. I squatted down beside the boy. 'Warlock' was too callous even in my line of work. After all, I'd be living with him. I reached out and gripped his shoulder, rocking him lightly. "Harry?"

He twitched away, and let out a sob. It sounded more animalistic than human. I could feel a headache building, and with my free hand, pinched the bridge of my nose. I took a few deep breaths to calm myself, and stopped quickly when I smelled the stink of black. From the smell, it seemed it hadn't even been a week.

"Harry," I spoke to him slowly and controlled. "I'm going to take the cloth off of your face, alright?" It didn't calm him down any. If anything, it made him moan louder.

I slowly rolled it off, and got a good look at his face. The resemblance between father and son was borderline ridiculous. But I'd never seen Malcolm look so tired, pained, and messy. His eyes had black bags, like he hadn't slept in days. There was blood smudged against his cheek. There was also something about the look on his face. Something that wasn't quite right, like he wasn't really seeing me.

When the mask came off, he flinched back and hissed at me. Hissed at me. "Stars," I muttered. "What the hell did DuMorne do to you boy?" He didn't hear me though, and jerked away frantically. His haunted eyes darted everywhere. He eventually slackened, and pulled down away from me. All energy gone.

He had a dirty shirt on. It was frayed, singed, and splattered with blood. I was pretty sure, not all of it was his own. I grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt, and practically dragged him towards my front door. If I hadn't worked a farm on a daily basis, it wouldn't have been possible for a man my age. I didn't invite him in. I didn't want a fully powered magic-capable madman in my home, regardless of how secured he was. Besides, as the boy lived here, it would become his home too, and the threshold wouldn't be an issue.

I was met with very little resistance on my way to Maggie's room, in the back. I didn't know if he was too struck by grief or madness. I didn't really care. Night was falling, and in my experience, dark workings always became stronger when the cleansing dawn had come and gone.

I'd wash him later. Dirt and grime could wait.

I half dragged him into the room. He was making some strange mewling noises, but otherwise not putting up much of a fight. With my free hand, I drew back the quilting and sheets from Maggie's bed. I lifted him by the scruff and put him into it. He lay face-first into the pillows, and I took out the key Simon had given me to un-cuff him.

His arms must have hurt from being bound that long. When I removed the cuffs, his bruised wrists fell beside him on the bed. He made no move to attack me. This was surprising. I'd witnessed numerous dark practitioners after capture, none of them had been this passive.

I watched him attempt to stretch his arms, and then burry them underneath the pillow. His movements, oddly vulnerable. The word 'victim' came to mind. I shook that thought from my head. I couldn't afford to underestimate him. Life had taught me this the hard way. I pulled the covers overtop of him. They could be washed later.

I backed away towards the door, careful to keep him in my sights.

When Maggie had been growing up, I'd set up wards inside the house to keep her safe from anything that broke through the threshold. Luckily, they could be easily flipped, to protect anything outside from what was contained within. How else do you ground a young wizard when they can easily blast a hole in your wall?

I adjusted the internal wards, without taking my eyes off him. I had faith that he wouldn't be able to break through them. After all, I'd adjusted them every time Maggie had found a way around my system. I didn't care if he was some sort of genius. He wasn't going to break five years of constant work in a night.

Things continually got worse. It was a small blessing that I didn't have to force the boy to eat. Everything else was a different matter.

I watched him carefully for two weeks, and I began to see, something was seriously wrong. There seemed to be two different sides of him. And regardless of how different they were, sometimes I couldn't tell the difference. One side of him was so disconnected from the world, it was like he wasn't even really there. He didn't talk much, but sometimes he'd spit a few angry words at something that wasn't even there. He had a glazed look that only seemed to clear when he was startled. It wasn't human behavior. Once, I'd forgotten to knock, and he'd attacked me. His eyes were wide and terrified. I don't think he meant to do it.

The other side was darker. The other side scared me to my core.

Sometimes, the distinction between the two was clear. The temperature would seemingly drop in the room. The boy's face would transform from a pained expression, into something self satisfied and confident. Usually I only noticed it out of the corner of my eye. Or the hairs on the back of my neck would stand up. Once, he was washing dishes. He froze, and I pretended not to notice. He looked out the window, his expression more lucid than I'd seen in days. His face was pensive, as if he were considering something. This side of him was usually more reserved. I'd seen him sit, staring, for hours at a time before, his eyes alert and aware. This once, he spoke to me.

"He's dead."

So, he was aware that I'd noticed him. "Yes," I replied, my tone betraying nothing.

"If I do it again, you'll kill me?" It wasn't so much a question, as it was a statement.

"Yes."

He turned towards me, and I saw his face in full. He seemed to contemplate my words for a moment. Then he smiled. It was disgusting and dark. It looked just like Maggie's back in the day. And I knew, beyond a doubt, he would use the black again. He was infected by the black. I could see it so clearly. As clearly as one can predict the sun will rise in the morning hours. He seemed to judge me with his dark eyes. "Really," he dared me. The words disturbed me more than the smile.

Doubts sprang to mind. Would I really kill him? If push came to shove? Years of working the job told me yes. But one tiny part of me still wondered. How he'd seen what I wasn't even aware of - I didn't know.

But I knew I had to do something. While one side of the boy was rotting, the other was half out of his mind. Putting together fully coherent sentences was an issue. I was getting older in age, and I couldn't look out for him forever.

Still, I waited on my plan. I held onto hope that he would somehow get better. That, what I was contemplating wasn't really necessary.

Thing got worse. He began to ramble to himself. To anyone else, he probably sounded like he was growling. When I brought him to town with me, things didn't improve. Sometimes he'd slink behind me and watch the townspeople like meats at the supermarket. Whatever dark desires he had, he never acted upon them. He'd catch himself after a moment, and look up at me, confused and scared. A group of kids tried to pick on him once. He was in one of his moods, and just smiled at them. I didn't even want to know what was running through his head.

I often went to check the wards around his room. I noticed they'd been poked and prodded at. The boy was getting bolder. It didn't end there. I caught him reading one of Maggie's old grimoires. Not the good kind either. I wondered what other dark surprises she had stashed away. He seemed to always dig into any magical texts he could get his hands on.

It wasn't until I saw him rocking himself back and forth in the hallway, that I affirmed I needed to do something. There was no use prolonging the inevitable. His arms were wrapped around his knees, his eyes distant, and he kept muttering some variation of: 'burn, burn, burn."

His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and his face contorted in anguish. I saw wet tear trails coating puffy red cheeks. He heard me, and looked up at me, wide eyed. He was mantra changed violent 'kill, kill, kill'. I could only assume he'd been talking about Justin. The only alternative was scarier. He might have been talking about somebody else. I'd scooped him up, as if he were years younger and fifty pounds lighter, and carried him into bed.

I used a simple sleeping spell, Council approved, and watched his body relax.

I summoned the blackstaff, and cringed as dark tendrils dug into my skin. And then I did the unthinkable to my grandson. I looked into his head and pieced him back together.


	3. Chapter 3

Don't resort to violent magic except in self defense.   
Avoid associating with bad company.  
Don't use black magic.

To further enforce the last, I tacked on a feeling to the thought. Every time he encountered the black, he would get a sense that it was 'wrong'. I associated negative feelings with this word. Fear, disgust, and shame.

It was hard though. When I looked into his head, I'd found compulsions already in place. Some of which I couldn't remove. DuMorne had backed them by ritual and blood sacrifice. Sacrifice of the innocent. Attempting to remove a spell cast by another's life force is almost impossible, even for someone like me.

One of the things I saw, was that he was trigger rigged for the Senior Council. The thought of them made him irrationally angry. Perhaps DuMorne meant him to assassinate one of them. I couldn't forget my surprise when I'd seen him nearly blast Aleron LaFortier. It had taken so little to make him willing to kill another human being. Thankfully, at the last second, my compulsion had held, and he'd disposed of the power.

There had been a few close calls over the years. Mainly whispered rumors among the Elder Wardens. Of course, they had no tangible proof, but I secretly wondered if there was a basis to these accusations.

Connection to a crime lord, using a hexenwolf belt, the burning of innocents beyond identification, deals with the fae, demonic contacts and possessions, associations with mind benders, necromancy, raising a warlock, - the list of rumors continued to the point where very few believed them all as a whole.

I'd visited him a few times, and I'd felt the dark after effect of -something. But the mark had never seemed too deep. In the end, something had always stopped his downward spiral. It was something beyond the scope of my compulsions.

This reassured me that what I'd done had truly been the correct choice of action. Some part of him, regardless of how small, wanted to do good.

Which was why, when the dam finally broke, I had no reservations about fixing him again.

I'd driven over from Missouri to redo my slipping compulsions. I couldn't get him alone though, because the police girl was with him. They'd been working a case. Apparently their perp had taken a little girl mere hours before my arrival.

Before I could stop him, he'd rushed out the door with the cop right behind him. "Sir, I've got to go. I'm sorry, I'll be back later."

I heard the door shut and the buzz of wards activate.

I'd taken a quick look at his case notes. It worried me that the kidnapped person, had been a little girl. Violence against children tended to make him dangerously close to loosing control. A wonderful personality trait in theory, but considering his unique situation, it might be better perceived as a curse.

I growled in frustration. The situation was getting worse as the minutes ticked by. It was almost as if the situation had been engineered specifically for him. Somedays I think the fates hate my bloodline. The amount of bad luck that happens around us, simply exceeds anything circumstantial.

I stuffed the girl's picture into my pocket, disarmed the wards, and headed out the door. I grabbed the shotgun from my truck in preparation.

I wiped the sweat from my brow. I was worried. I needed to find the boy before everything got out of hand. The situation could only go from bad to worse.

I was able to track him by honing in on his magical energy, something I'd become accustomed to in the time he'd lived with me. It was vibrant, unpredictable, and clever with a little hint of dark.

I found him easily enough. As usual, he was a fountain of energy with little restraint. I don't think he realized just how much he wasted.

A typical creature wearing a lovely female mask faced him. It held the child's body between itself and the boy. It was murmuring in the girl's ear whilst holding a rusted ritual knife to her throat.

I readied a spell to rip the girl from the creature's grasp. I whispered a word of power, and fully expected the effects of my spell to take effect. It didn't.

I had underestimated the creature's power. I'd put too little juice into the spell, and because of my action, the creature was now aware of my presence.

Hoss wasn't. He didn't even notice I was there. The boy's jaw was clenched tight . His fingers were wrapped so tightly around his staff that the knuckles were turning bleach white. His eyes were beyond furious and stared at the creature with a well of hatred so absolute. He was growling under his breath while the police girl aimed her gun at the creature.

The creature gave two glances between us, then promptly slit the little girl's throat. The boy's eyes got very wide and his legs trembled. The police girl simply started to open fire.

The creature lunged towards the two of them, and flung some sort of spell. It was a simple force spell that I wasn't quick enough to block. It knocked the police girl back, and she slammed into a hard stone wall. She collapsed on the floor in a crumpled heap. Blood stained her pretty blond hair.

I felt it in my bones before my sight could confirm it.

The boy snapped.

He screamed and flung himself at the creature. He didn't even have the sense to use magic. Lunacy giving him strength, he grabbed the creature and smashed it against the stone floor. He wrestled the knife from its grasp, and he screamed again as he chopped little bits off the creature. It bled an odd blackish green color, and howled right along with the boy.

He grabbed the creature's neck with one hand, choking it, whilst still slashing. His body trembled with furry and his screams turned into choked sobs. He grabbed the creature's neck harder, his fingers digging into it's flesh coat like play dough.

The thing made a gurgling sound, then grabbed my apprentice and threw him across the room.

The boy minimized the impact, and took the hit with a roll. He righted himself quickly and called upon fire. He used the minor spell normally reserved for candles, not the major one meant for fights. He wanted to see the creature suffer.

Blood smothered the left side of his face and dripped onto the stone floor. His hatred remained, but his frown had begun to turn into a smile. The cold smile I'd seen years ago. Even now it still sent chills up my spine.

The creature was still withering in fire. Its skin blackening as it rolled desperately across the ground. Somehow it still maintained its human guise.

The boy walked over calmly, whispered a word of power, and a gust of wind blew the flames out. He squatted down to the trembling thing. He looked in his hand, and considered using the knife. I guess that wasn't personal enough for him, because he flung it away.

He muttered something, and the illusion of a beautiful woman fell away. The creature's true form remained. It was grotesque and elongated.

The boy put one knee on the creature's chest, holding it down, and gripped the creature's head. From behind I saw his muscles bunch in preparation to snap its neck.

It took all my strength to pull him off the creature, and throw him to the floor. Luckily, he hadn't seen me coming.

Then I emptied a shell into the creature's face.

It died, simply, and I threw the shotgun to the opposite corner of the room.

I approached the boy, and he looked up at me. He growled at me, but I ignored him. I squatted to his side, and grabbed his duster before he could scamper away from me. The smile was gone, replaced by confusion. He looked at me like I was a stranger, and I think my heart nearly stopped.

I ran my fingers through his hair, and tried to calm him down, but he just kept shaking harder than ever. I pulled him in an embrace, and he fought limply against me.

It isn't easy to do mind magic without looking at a person's eyes, but I could still do it. I don't think I could have faced him as I stitched him back together.

Eventually the clawing of his fingers against me ceased, and his body went lax.

I laid him next to the police girl, and waited for him to wake up.

Let him blame me for the creature's death. I'd rather accept his glances than make him carry guilt for something he didn't even remember.

As I waited, I pondered to myself, just how long the compulsions would last this time. And in the event that I died on the battle front or of old age, what would happen to him.

He couldn't hear me, but I said it anyways. "Oh Hoss," I nearly choked on my own words, "I can't fix you forever."


End file.
